


The Wolf and The Wildling

by inhailer_42



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, No actual sexual assault, One-Sided Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Political Jon Snow, Rare Pair, Rare Pairings, Wish me luck, but imma do it, can't stand either really, i have no clue what this is, season 7 and 8 redo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inhailer_42/pseuds/inhailer_42
Summary: This is a redo of season 7 and season 8, not sure about this ship but I'm feeling adventurous, join me if you are too!
Relationships: Alys Karstark/Jon Snow, Tormund Giantsbane/Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark (past)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 92





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't get scared, but this is my first proper fanfic so it could be bloody awful. Please leave a comment, I am open to creative criticism, but also gimme some love too haha.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Also this hasn't really been proof read so..... yeah good luck...

In all her interactions with the man, Tormund hadn’t come across as the religious type, then again she supposed that she didn’t really know him outside of being one of Jon’s closest companions. As they kneeled before the most ancient and sacred of trees, surrounded by what was left of the Great Northern Houses in the Godswood, as they prayed for the blessings and well wishes of the Old Gods for the sanctity of their marriage, Tormund seemed entranced as he held himself in a deep, respectful bow. The muscles of his face were pulled into a small frown, intense in his concentration. She, on the other hand, had been fidgeting, glancing around from the side of her eyes once every now and then, almost sighing in boredom. Praying didn’t hold what it once had for her. The Gods, New and Old, had failed her too many times now. They were real to her - the Old at the very least, but in her opinion, they were useless …although in the scenario of Jon she supposed that perhaps the Lord of Light had some merit.

Sansa could only hope that this would be it and that she would never have to ask for these blessings ever again. Her third and final, she decided. And this one would work. She was determined to make it so, lest herself and the very North would suffer for it.

Taking a deep calming breath as she waited for Jon to break the silence and end the ceremony, she was brought back to the moments leading to this very one.

**_…_ **

_She looked out over courtyard, watching as men, women and children hurried and clambered about their daily tasks readying themselves for the newly arrived winter and the Long Night ahead. She breathed in the cold crisp breeze that swirled and howled through the air._

_There was tension here. She could feel it brewing. The Battle of the Bastards had been won but life had already begun to move on. Only two weeks now since they had taken back Winterfell and Jon had been named King in the North for all to see, but already the cracks were beginning to show. Jon knew how to lead an army, but an entire Kingdom, he was not prepared for that. True he had been given the same education as all the other Stark children, only he hadn’t been prepared in the same way that Robb or herself had. Being the head of a House was out of the question. Thankfully Jon had understood this and immediately had Sansa instated as the Lady of Winterfell and co-ruler. He knew her worth now, had learnt the hard way that her words and knowledge were important above all, especially if he was going to get this right and do well by those whom had claimed him King._

_They had to work together._

_But they were not the problem that was quickly making itself known within the walls of Winterfell. The Wildlings and the Northern Folk were beginning to butt heads - they had done so throughout the preparations for the battle, but it was thought by both Jon and Sansa that perhaps after fighting together they would make peace in some way. That was not the case._

_The Wildlings didn’t trust the Northerners and the Northerners didn’t trust the Wildlings, and it was beginning to get exhausting. If what Jon was saying was to be believed then they had to get along. Build trust. But until there was certainty that the North and the Wildlings would be fighting for each other and not just themselves, as what seemed to be the current belief held between the two, there would be none._

_She had to fix this. Jon had to fix this. What they had was so delicate that one wrong move could blow it all to pieces._

_The sound of a great and hearty laugh broke her from her spell. A shade close to her own and a large, tall frame came into view as her eyes set upon Tormund Giantsbane. He was talking to what appeared to be a small group of stone masons and wilding folk attending to a half built wall at the far west side of the yard. She observed them for a little while. Looking at their faces and mannerisms, the way that they talked jovially to one another. Although, she had to admit that the masons came across a little scandalised by whatever was being said by the large wild man._

_And then it hit her, something small. Sansa’s eyes widened a little._

Hmmm…

_An idea formulated in her mind. She could see the shape of it but not quite the detail. Gradually Sansa backed away from the railings as her mind started to do what it had been skilfully trained to. Oh this could be good, potentially, definitely,_ very _dangerous, but good._

Gods _, her Father was probably doing backflips in his grave at this, but he wasn't here and this was a very different world from the one he left._

_This would most certainly be something more solidifying than a good word and a nod from Jon to both sides._

_She knew what she had to do._

**_…_ **

_“If I marry Tormund then it could potentially pacify this unyielding tension and mistrust the Lords have in regards to the Wildlings. I do not blame them for it, Wildings and Northern Folk have caused each other trouble for centuries. The Northern Lords know that the Free Folk have loyalty to you Jon, but we know that it is Tormund that they look to in lieu of you and if anything were to happen to you then we have no one left to make the connection between the Free Folk and the rest of the North. If I marry him then the Lords may see their loyalty to the Northern cause solidified.” She argued. “I know that this probably wouldn’t be the case from the perspectives of the Free Folk but as you keep saying we need as many people fighting together and not with each other._

_“_ You _marrying a Wildling would be far too direct, and would ruin their confidence in you as a a good leader and potentially any chance of you keeping the crown upon your head. No, this willl have to be my burden to bear.” She murmured. “You, Jon, will need to marry a Northerner.”_

_“Sansa, this is a lot to take in.” Jon said quite befuddled. He stood next to the window of their father’s solar, if Sansa had seen him brood before, and she certainly had, this moment definitely took the cake._

_“I know Jon, but we have to think fast if we want keep things as peaceful as possible.” She said determinedly. “We have to be smart Jon.”_

_“Who would you have him marry?” Both pairs of eyes turned to Ser Davos, standing with his arms crossed and an eyebrow peaked in the corner of the room. Sansa had known she had to keep this small, she didn’t want Littlefinger having a part of it. Seven knows what he would do with this, how he would chop and change and manipulate it. He was good piece to keep on the side for now, but he wasn’t going to play the North like he had the court of Kings Landing._

_“Alys Karstark.”_

_Jon almost choked, the look of disbelief . “Gods, Sansa. How long have you been thinking on this?" He cried. "Also, Alys?”_

_Sansa could only give him a look of understanding sympathy. She knew, as near all women did, what it was like to have this sort of thing sprung on you, especially when it concerned someone you hardly even knew. In this moment her mind absentmindedly wandered as where her first husband was in all of this. Where had he gone? What had he done? How much would he hate or scorn her for her foolish ways. She had been but a girl after all. If she thought about him long enough, she could even bring herself to miss him a little._

_“She’s not a bad idea.” Ser Davos said after a moment._

_“Actually, she’s the only idea.” Sansa clarified, leaning back into the large leather chair. “All the other houses either have no girls or have girls that 10 and under. So unless you’re wanting a child bride…”_

_Jon stood silent for a long moment. Marriage. He had never really thought of it before. At least not before and certainly not after Ygritte. Never had to, a bastard like him. Alys Karstark had been pleasant enough in company when they’d been in it, not that that had been all that much at all. A few hours at most, perhaps not even that. She wasn’t a great beauty either from what he had seen. Even so, he hadn’t really taken her in, but that was neither here nor there. Gods, this could be messy. She might not even like him, especially after her father’s demise in the Battle. No matter what he had to do his duty, and his duty was to his people. They had to trust that he was going to be good and true to the North. Sansa was right, he had to have a certain distance to the Free Folk, they were a priority but the North had to be first and foremost._

_As he thought more he also concluded that in a way it could also be interpreted as a punishment, it would technically be the dissolving of a House. Karstarks would be no more, and more than likely the Lords would call for him to be not a Snow but a Stark. No doubt Sansa had thought of this too._

How very Tywin Lannister _, Jon mused._

_Eventually Jon looked to Sansa. “Alright.”_

_She nodded with a relieved sigh, giving him what she hoped to be a reassuring smile. “Okay.”, but before anyone could move she spoke up again; “Another thing I should add is that it would probably be prudent to also pledge to certain Lords, such as those whom were loyal to you in the Battle of the Bastards, that children from said union may be open to betrothals to other lower houses - depending on what children you have that is.”_

_Jon didn’t have to think about this too hard. “That would be a very smart thing to do, no doubt it would put many at ease even more so.”_

_Davos grunted in the affirmative too._

_Sansa nodded and started to write down the notes that would be needed for when they finally addressed the Lords. Jon sat down on one of the large leather seats opposite their father’s old grand desk that Sansa occupied. Jon admired her. She truly took upon the role she had been set. She was made for this far more than he._

_“You’re really good at this you know,” He mumbled eventually._

_“What?” Sansa asked faintly, focused on the task at hand._

_“Thinking.” She had to laugh at that. The things Jon said sometimes. “You know what I mean.” He continued, rolling his eyes. “Planning and plotting and knowing.”_

_It wasn’t often someone credited her for her mind. “Thank you, Jon.” She smiled appreciatively. He had been trying, he really had and Sansa was grateful for it. She needed a brother. And a friend. Both of which that she could count on to last. She had lost so much. She needed some semblance of trust and reassurance in her life that wasn't false in intention, that was true and kind and well meant._

_He bobbed his head. “That’s okay.”_

_Davos cleared his throat. “When should we initiate this plan?”_

_Sansa looked up from the desk thoughtfully. “I’d say we that we talk to the respective parties tonight, and give them maybe a few days to the end of the week to think it over, then we break it to the Lords by weeks end, before they leave to gather their people.”_

_“Aye.” Davos agreed. “Whom will ask whom what though?”_

_“I’ll tell Tormund our plans,” rasped Jon. “And you can do Alys? Women aren’t exactly my strong point… and I know Tormund more.”_

_Sansa chuckled. “That sounds fine to me.”_

_Jon nodded and rose from the chair. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”_

**_…_ **

Now here she sat. Somehow Tormund had agreed to it, Jon hadn’t been very detailed on Tormund's initial reaction but whatever had been spoken between them had made the wild man agree. However there was a very explicit understanding that whatever this marriage was it was anything but fixed. At least on Tormund’s part. His people, traditionally, were not commonly bound forever as the rest of Westeros seemingly was and so this marriage would be lasting for as long as it was beneficial for the Free Folk. After the Long Night, if it came and if they survived, this marriage could very well be meaningless, null, void. For the time being however, Sansa just hoped that neither The Free Folk, The North or they themselves would come to regret it.

Slowly she opened her eyes and turned towards Jon, softly clearing her throat. Promptly, he moved back in front of everyone and called for the prayer to end.

And so, once more, and what she prayed would be the last time, Sansa Stark was married.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure what this chapter is but I'm just going with the flow haha.  
> I was also so surprised at how quick I was able to write this. There are probably many mistakes like the last chapter, sorry about that, but I'll probably end up editing the chapters over time so if you notice any subtle changes that'll be why. Also if I put in any major changes (which I highly doubt) I definitely clarify in the latest chapters. Also I think I will be doing POV changes throughout the story, but my main focus will be from Sansa's perspective.
> 
> Enjoy!

He had daughters. This much she knew now. They had spoken somewhat as they had made their way back to the Great Hall after the ceremony, arriving hand in hand and taking their place at the head table. Making small talk over their courses and exchanging pleasantries - at least on Sansa’s part, on Tormund’s …she wasn’t entirely sure what Tormund’s was. He was blunt, honest, and very much straight to the point. But he could tell a good story or two, she’d give him that. His life beyond the wall seemed like a grand adventure, all hanging by moments of chance and luck. She’d almost felt like she was listening to the bedtime stories Old Nan used to tell her and her siblings before bed.

She’s also learnt that he liked to get drunk, very, _very_ drunk.

“Tonight is a true night of celebration!” Her new husband called from the opposite end of the hall, later in the night. Various others cheered in merry agreement. Looking around he yelled; “They’ll be singing of us for years to come - the Wolf and the Wildling!” Laughing heftily, he drank deep into his horn. Those surrounding soon following the great beast of a man.

It truly did sound like song she would’ve once sung, she reflected.

Sansa could barley take a sip of her own wine. The need to be as far away in her mind from the coming bedding was greater than her distain for the sour cup she held.

_This_ was going to be a long night.

She took a nervous breath and tried her best to take it all down in one lot.

_There_ , she thought, _only a couple more and I won’t likely even remember any of this_. At that thought Sansa turned to the serving girl and made an indication to be given more.

She mused rather forlornly as more drink was poured into her cup. Looking around the room Sansa took in the small sights to be seen. There were men and women dancing about as a small minstrel group played in one corner of the room. In another was Tormund and his table, including Jon and Ser Davos, and a smattering of Wildlings and Northerners laughed and drank jovially. Around the other tables lining the room there were people of both North and Wildling feasting and flirting together, with more drinking and cheering. All in all, from this small moment Sansa could almost say that their planned had worked. But this was only one night, and tampered inhibitions wasn’t going to solve much.

Sansa sighed again, taking a large slug from her cup. Her throat mildly burning once again, this time though she found that she didn’t mind it so much.

_Not so bad the second time._ She thought a little fuzzily.

As she took the cup away from her mouth she noticed a small thread dangling from the edge of the sleeve. Her brow furrowed in annoyance. There was always one thread she missed. She looked down over her work, nitpicking at her stitching. Her wedding dress had been simple, but political none the less. She was a Lady of the North and now _the_ Lady of the North. With the great red leaves of the Heart Tree flowing down the back of the long, snow white dress to pool at the bottom, like the ones that fell from the tree. Margaery had quite obviously been on Sansa’s mind. However the rest of the dress had been kept far more conservative, a high neck and long closed arms - with a thick fur lining too because _Gods_ the wind was as cold as the ice that grew beyond the Wall these days. Her eyes flickered back to Tormund again, he looked quite well kept this evening, donning the same white material and fur lining as she in the style of the Northern men. With his hair brushed and tied, and his beard combed and oiled, Sansa could almost bring herself to say he looked rather handsome. But that was neither here nor there, handsome didn’t equal good, and as far as she had seen he wasn’t exactly a moral man, despite his earlier prayers.

“Are you well my Lady?” A voice she had once listened so intently to, so trustingly, but was now dreaded whisper in her ear, came down into the abandoned seat next her, abruptly ending her hazy thoughts.

_Seven Hells._

“Lord Baelish.” She answered dully.

“You looked quite flushed, my Lady. Are you well?”

“I have been drinking. And it’s warm next to the fire.” She was really trying to hold back the edge in her voice. What did she have to do to show him she wasn’t interested in near anything he had to say anymore?

Glancing towards the raucous crowed surrounding Tormund he smirked in that very Littlefinger way of his, “So has your new husband it would seem.”

Sighing, Sansa finally donned him a mere moment of attention. “What do you want Lord Baelish?”

“Nothing, just simply looking out for your wellbeing.”

“My _wellbeing_? Where was that concern when you gave me to Ramsey, my Lord? Or when the Lions tore at me in Kingslanding?”

“I got you out of there -“

“ _Just_.” She looked him in the eye. “And then you sold me.”

“Sansa, I -“

She was having none of this, they had been going over and over this through the past weeks. The conversation never changing. Whatever it was that they’d had between them, this strange mentorship with stolen and unwanted kisses. In this moment she was done.

“Please stop, Petyr.” She said with such finality. Silence reigned between them. But then she softened it, realising that as much as she wanted this all to end, she knew that she couldn’t afford to have him leave. He’d take the entire Arryn army with him if he did. Taking a shaky breath she quietly murmured; “Just not tonight.”.

He stayed quiet for a time, but then he took her hand and placed a small kiss on the back of it, “Of course.”. Her hand shook ever so slightly in his. She couldn’t stand his touch. It was enough back then, but now after Ramsey, she could hardly hold herself back from showing her repulsion.

“Sansa.” Came a gruff voice.

Both looked up to the large and intimidating figure looming over them.

“My Lord.” She swallowed dryly, taking in her new Lord Husband.

“You look in need of a good dance.” His eyebrow rose in suggestion.

“Lord Tormund.” Lord Baelish inclined his head, not that Tormund seemed to care, his eyes keenly set upon his new bride.

“Come, wife,” He held out his hand to her. She looked at it for but a moment and took it, leaving Littlefinger’s empty. He followed her around to the end of the table, never letting go. He leaned in closely to her as he led her towards his merry little group, his lips near against her ear. “Are you alright?” He asked, quietly.

His voice was deep and rough, but it had a softness to it. It sent little shivers down her spine. In spite of herself, Sansa found that she quite liked it.

“Yes, ser. Thank you.” She replied in a voice that was barely there.

“Hmph. There’s no need for that,” He shrugged dismissively. “Your brother’s told me enough about that slimy little shit of a man.” He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Littlefinger slipped back into the shadows of the room. “Not to mention you didn’t exactly look to pleased at his presence.”

“That’s understatement by any measure, my Lord.” She mumbled to herself.

_Yes_ , he’d be keeping a watchful eye on that one.

He stiffened slightly. “I’m no Lord.”

“You just married the Lady of Winterfell.” She countered, her brow furrowing. “Wait, I don’t think that counts. Maybe? No?” She continued to mutter, her cups beginning to catch up to her.

He laughed at the confused looking woman. “The Free Folk don’t have Lords and Ladies, and I doubt they’d like the idea of me or anyone else calling me something as Southern as that.” The man looked repulsed at the mere thought of it.

“This is the North, _my Lord_.” Tormund snickered. “But I wouldn’t want to offend. Jon tells me that even your position could be compromised.”

“Aye, not all is set in stone. But they respect me for the moment, although maybe not so much after this. And especially not looking like this.” He waved up and down his body. He then turned directly to her, his eyes looking her up and down, like he was really taking her in for the first time. “You want more drink?”

Sansa was suddenly pulled back to her very first wedding night. She looked down and smiled somewhat fondly at the memory. _Hmmm…_

She gazed back up into his eyes. “Only if I have to.” She replied amused by the familiar moment.

A great big grin toned his face. “It is your wedding night.”

“Then I guess I have to.” She smiled.

“Good!” He practically roared, shoving a cup into her hand. “To the North!” He toasted.

“To the North!” The table erupted, before downing the lot. Sansa debated the drink for a moment, it looked such a strange texture and colour. But before she could think to much on it she swallowed the lot. Tormund roared with triumphant laughter at his new little wife, while she spluttered the awful liquid down.

“Gods, what was that?” She choked.

“Best you don’t know, my Lady.” She heard Ser Davos say.

She could feel the warmth of it moving through her, her fingertips tingling and her mind blurring. She stole another small cup from the table, and swigged it back. Tormund howled in disbelief. “We’ll make a Wildling of you yet little wife!”

The sound of a new tune being played drew away his attention for a moment, before spinning back to Sansa and the table. “Time to dance!” He slapped the back of her shoulder as he all but shoved her towards the jumping crowed.

Sansa cringed at the impact but she knew it was in good nature.

She didn’t know how long she danced, and drank, and danced, and smiled, and laughed, and drank some more, it felt like hours. This certainly hadn’t been what she’d though the night would’ve been like at all. A stiff feast and a cold bedding. But she could hardly think on it for all the fun she was having. Later she settled down again, only this time she stayed with Tormund’s table. Making conversation and laughing about things she wouldn’t remember in the morning. Lords and Lady’s came up to her throughout the night offering their congratulations and blessings upon the new couple. Though it wasn’t mentioned, there was still some tension over the idea. Nearly no one had been overjoyed at the idea of their union at first, but eventually Sansa and Jon, along with Tormund, had managed to convince enough of the Lords and Wildling Elders that it would be good. That it would cement their uniting far more than what was already barely there. When it came to Jon marrying the Karstark girl no one battered an eye. The Lords were pleased to see their new King take the role seriously and that he understood what was required of him, no doubt muttering that he did even more so than Robb, which was unfair, but understandable.

Eventually Jon came and sat down at her side. He’d been watching her for a good majority of the night, she’d been so unhappy for so long. He swore he’d never seen her smile and laugh as much as she did this night. It was probably the alcohol, but he couldn’t care less, she was having fun. Something that she’d not had in a very long time

“How are you fairing?” He asked.

“Well.” She smiled rather jovially, popping a grape from a bowl in the middle of the table into her mouth, looking around, her eyes filled with mirth. But then for some reason she paused, the light that had been sparkling in her eyes fading ever so slightly. “For the moment.”

Sansa had been finding that every time she stopped her mind couldn’t help but wander.

Jon nodded in understanding. He knew what was expected of her and Tormund, he dreaded it for her too. But he had spoken to Tormund at length on the matter. _Ramsey_. He knew the man wouldn’t take his rights until she agreed to it. _If she agreed to it_. As far as he could tell though, Tormund didn’t seem interested in anything of the sort tonight. If he had been then Sansa would’ve been whisked away hours ago. Rape wasn’t his way.

_Fucking a bear on the other hand…_

“I don’t think you need to worry.” He said with a small but encouraging smile.

She didn’t look so convinced.

“Give him a chance, Sansa. He’s been good to you tonight has he not?”

She couldn’t disagree with that, being her saviour from Littlefinger and dancing with him and drinking and talking with him had been …fun. Tormund had been good all evening but she still didn’t know him enough to make a proper judgement.

“He won’t hurt you.”

She didn’t answer Jon then either, deciding that for the moment she would let it rest, finishing off the rest of the cup in front of her. A devious glint catching in her eye as she did so. Sansa stood and took her brother’s hand and ‘offered’ him a dance.

“No, come on, I’m awful Sansa, you know it.” He pleaded as she all but dragged him back to the lively crowed. “Surely you’re worn out too by now."

“Not tonight!” She yelled over the music and she pulled him closer. “Besides it's my wedding!” She cried, calling upon Tormund’s own excuses for her to drink earlier.

He couldn’t well argue with that.

**_…_ **

Finally she made her way near the Lord’s chambers. She was worn through from all the dancing and drinking - if she had anymore she was fairly certain it would rise back up again. Having no clue what time it was she hummed to herself as she stumbled through the hall, giggling every time shit hit a wall or lost her footing. Pulling the pins from her hair and dropping them on the ground, letting those rich fiery locks cascade down her back. The ache from her hair being pulled so tight for so long, fading.

“Sansa!” A gruff voice called from a distance behind her.

She swivelled, almost falling over mid-action. Large hands rising swiftly to stop her fall, catching her arms.

She looked up. _Tormund_.

“I think you’ve had quite a night. I don’t think I ever seen a little lady drink so much in her life.”

“Not nearly as much as you, husband.” She retorted, not unkindly.

“Aye, but I’m bigger and I’ve been drinking far longer than you.”

_Fair_ , she thought, nodding to herself.

He helped her stay on her feet as he manoeuvred them both towards the chamber, Sansa could swear she could hear some wolf-whistles coming from down the long hall somewhere. When they reached the room he opened the door, walking in first then gently pulling her in too. Leaving her next to the closed door he made his way to the opposite side of the chamber where a small table held a pitcher of water, goblets, some cut fruit, and another jug of wine. Sansa observedthe yellowing of the fruit from being left out for so long.

The sound of Tormund pouring himself some water brought her back. She stared blankly at him for a moment, still standing in the doorway and watching as he begun to unlace his doublet. Sansa looked down her own dress, then at the ground. Reality finally catching up to her after trying so hard to avoid it all night. Actually rather successfully for a while there. Taking a large gulp of air she began to unlace the side of her gown. Fumbling with the lacings she could feel her eyes beginning to itch and her nose beginning to swell. That telling ball in her throat only getting bigger and bigger as the slow seconds passed. She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t hold it in. She didn’t want to do this again but what choice did she have? Her people; his people; depended on their marriage being true didn’t it?

“Stop.”

She looked up.

“None of that.”

Gently place his goblet down on the table he came closer, his hands covering and stilling hers.

“Not tonight.” His let hand rising and wiping a rouge tear from her cheek. She tried her best not to flinch at the soft action.

“Sleep, little wife.” Gradually he made his way back towards the bed. Sitting down and hunching over to take off his boots. “I won’t touch you.”

After waiting for him to settle into bed Sansa made her way behind the folding screen placed near the small table. Being careful to slowly take off her dress as to try and preserve it as best she could - although she’d already managed to get bits of food and wine stuck on the front of it. She’d have to think about trying to get the stains out later. She put a warm dressing gown on and after a few calming breaths she made her way to the bed. She settled herself at the very edge of her side. It had been months since Ramsey, but he was still as fresh day.

At some point, after staring at the wall for what seemed an age, her tired lids closed and her breathing evened, and Sansa eventually succumbed to slumber.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what this chapter is and I didn't really know how to end it. I guess it's some necessary filler, but meh. Also didn't know how to end it either, but I felt like I needed to upload so here you go! Hope it's not too shite! :)
> 
> Again, sorry if there are mistakes. Enjoy!
> 
> Also Ramsey is mentioned in this chapter so heads up for those looking out for TRIGGER WARNINGS. If it I write graphically about anything I will let you know, but it comes with the territory of Sansa after season 5 and 6.

The smell of freshly cooked eggs and sausages was nearly enough to make her heave then and there. How Tormund was chowing his way through his plate was beyond her. Then again it seemed as though whatever he had drunk last night hadn’t worn on him nearly half as bad as it had on her. He had complained of a headache when they had awoken together, grumbling as he made his way around the room, putting his clothes back on before leaving her to her own devices. But other than that he didn’t seem be affected. Sansa had simply pulled a pillow over her head and rolled over, falling back into a deep sleep for a few hours more. It had only been early after all.

She looked and felt very much like death. Gazing across the hall, Sansa could say very much the same for the few that filled it. Even the staff looked ill. Her own maid, a small girl named Orla had been late to Sansa’s aid when she’d finally hauled herself form bed, trying her very best to come up with an excuse. Sansa had simply dismissed it.

As she leaned over her food to take another sniff of the repulsive contents of her plate she felt a rather large head rest against her lap.

“Good morning, Ghost.” She whispered. The large wolf lifted its great skull and directed it towards her plate and then back at her, whining, his great red eyes practically begging. Taking a sneaky glance around the hall to make sure none were watching, and one to the side of her where Tormund was still stuffing his face like a starved man, she delicately lifted her breakfast and placed it on the ground beside the great beast. Giving the wolf a small wink she told herself that in scheme of things it didn’t matter too much, besides she doubted the poor wolf had a had a good meal in while. It was so cold nowadays that most things near Winterfell were either hiding in hibernation or long dead, waiting for a summer that would probably be long to come. The wolf gave her a very appreciative look before inhaling everything in nearly two bites.

“Not hungry?” Her husband asked in low voice close beside her.

“Decidedly not.” She muttered with a sour face, watching Ghost greedily lick up what little it had left.

“Not surprised, you drank a lot last night, little wife.” Sansa thought that the glint in his eyes were something akin to admiration, like she’d accomplished some impressive feat. She certainly didn’t feel accomplished. Queazy, that’s what she felt.

Honestly she didn’t have to brain capacity to think too hard right now and anything she could find in her very clouded noggin she’d have to savour it for the coming meetings she and Jon had to have with the Maester, and the Lords Glover, Royce, and little Ned Umber. Food provisions, armour, firewood, building materials, battle materials; swords, axes, shields and all the like had to be accounted for. Sansa secretly hoped that they were (besides Ned Umber, obviously) as hungover as she, at least for today. I could wait one day at the very least.

_Please let it wait for another day_ , her brain groaned.

“At least eat this.”

“Hmmm?” She turned to him. Gods, he look wild. Any evidence of last night’s somewhat tamed version of Tormund was almost completely gone. His hair, his beard, his bulk build, that slightly insane look in his eyes. He wasn’t what her father had envisioned for her, and most certainly wasn’t what she had dreamed of as a little girl.

He nodded to the piece of buttered toast he was holding. Sansa immediately turned up her nose at it.

“It’ll make you feel better.” He reassured, dancing it in the air.

She really didn’t believe him, but at that moment surly nothing should make her feel worse off. Daintily, Sansa took the piece and gave it a small nibble.

… _not so bad._

“Where did you go this morning?” She enquired after a beat. Even though they’d had spoken many times the night before, Sansa felt as though there was this strange rigidity between them. She’d felt this sensation after marrying Tyrion. The need to fill the air with as many words as possible before it got too silent. She hated how awkward it had been.

“The training yard,” He said taking a sip of water. “Jon’s got me showing your Southern boys how to properly swing a sword.” He looked as proud as peacock at that.

“I’m sure that they would be trained sufficiently by our own men.” She tried to defend lightly.

“Not when it comes to the dead they don’t.”

He had her there. She simply smiled and bowed her head in a small defeat. “What will you do now?” She asked in mild curiosity.

“I’ve got Free Folk to settle, more come down from beyond the Wall as each day passes. Children and the elderly mostly. They’re hungry, worn, and not ready for the fight ahead.”

Sansa bit her lip in contemplation for a moment. “Perhaps I could be of assistance to you?”

“Really? You’d do that?” His brow crinkling. “What about your pretty dress, wouldn’t imagine you’d want to ruin something like that.”

_Ah, a little judgmental._

“I’ll change.” She countered nonchalantly, had she been her younger self then no doubt something as trivial as nice clothes would put her off _just_ going outside. “They’re not really my people now, but I am your wife and the purpose of this marriage is to create a harmony of sorts between ourselves. I think it would certainly do good for me to help don’t you think?”

He pursed his lips.

“Not to mention an extra helping hand probably wouldn’t go amiss, I would imagine.”

He gave her a small nod in agreeance. “Alright then.”

She’d been into the Wildling encampment beyond the Wall before, and to the new one outside of Winterfell’s walls but they had only been in brief and she had never truly interacted with anyone there.

“Come on, Ghost.” She called getting up to follow her husband, deciding that wearing the breaches and jerkin she had not long made for herself would be the most suitable attire. Not exactly her style but she had known that she would need something far more practical to walk around in and do physical labor, if any should arise for her which she believed it no doubt would, as the Long Night drew closer. Also, if she had to run from White Walkers she was more than certain a thick gown would only slow her down and make her imminent demise come far sooner than without.

**_…_ **

They trudged through the newly laid snow that now thickly blanketed the grounds outside of the walls of her home, Ghost trailing along behind them. In the fresh air Sansa felt herself being somewhere revived from the death-like hangover, her headache clearing a little.

“You said you had two daughter’s?” Sansa queried, sparking up conversation between them again.

“Aye.”

“What are their names?”

“Munda is the eldest, and Ynda is the youngest.”

“Ages?”

“Three and ten, and one and ten.”

She smiled reminiscently of her own self at that age, so innocent, so full of wonder. “What are they like?”

“Wild,” She could see the pride in his eyes. “Munda’s got a mean hook on her. I pity the man who tries to steal her when she’s of age. She could take down a whole tribe of warriors if she really wanted.” Sansa thought that perhaps that might have been a slight exaggeration on Tormund’s part, but enjoyed his passion none the less. “But Ynda,” he shook his head smiling. “Ynda’s the real brat. Head strong and quick witted, she’d outsmart the wisest of men.”

They sounded like Arya. Sansa’s heart stung a little at the thought.

“She’s also got light fingers, so I’d keep a close eye on your pockets when you’re about her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her hands quite consciously traveling to her pockets.

_Well then, this’ll be interesting_ , she thought as the approached the camp. It had grown larger than the last time she’d seen it and that had only been half a week ago. Tormund had been right about there being more settlers, only he had failed to say just how many - she’d have to speak to Jon about how they were going to cope with that many mouths to feed, they were already beginning to consider rationing as it was.

When they got there Tormund had directed her towards what appeared to be a newer section of the camp. Old and young adults occupied the outsides of the tents while small children ran screamed around them. Some knitting, some sharpening knives or making bows and arrows, others were bent over large pots cooking over their fire pits.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Her eyebrow rising in slight puzzlement.

“You have children?”

Her answer was a hard “No”, along with a muttered “Never been pregnant.”.

“Not even from Ramsey?” He asked with no hesitance.

She shook her head. “Try as he might.” She whispered to herself bitterly.

No one really spoke of _him_ with her, but when they did it was rare that they were so direct. Only Jon knew that she preferred to be frank about it all rather than have people tiptoeing and dancing around the topic, waiting for her to fall apart like a delicate flower. Although in saying that she had to admit that she did fall apart somewhat the night previous. But she’d been drinking and hadn’t known what Tormund was really planning on doing once those bedroom doors had closed. She had hoped her brother had been right, but she hadn’t been convinced… until the doors had closed and he had done nothing but snore all night through.

“It’s not right, taking a woman like that.”

“Isn’t that your people’s custom?” Sansa asked. Everyone knew that, that along with pillaging.

“For some.” He turned to her, giving her a rather solemn look. “Not my way.”

Sansa cleared her throat after a moment, that particular conversation coming to a close. “So, what do you need me to do?”

“Can you chop wood?”

She shook her head.

“Time you learnt.”

And so she did. He took her to a wood pile to one side of the camp and showed her what to do. She couldn’t get it at first, and she didn’t last long what with her arms never truly doing a hard days work in their life - also the motion was starting to make her heave a little. But she got into a rhythm and managed to cut what she considered to be a decent amount. Tormund could only laugh. Then when she could lift the axe no more he asked if she could sew. This she nodded all to eagerly to. _That_ , she could do. She may or may not have slipped in a mention or two of how she had been the one to make her own wedding dress, with Tormund actually looking at her impressed. He brought her somewhere near the middle of the encampment where there were men and women sat in a circle on logs and stones, humming songs unknown to those south of the Wall, around medium sized fire pit. They greeted her in a somewhat reserved fashion, but were no doubt encouraged by her husband’s presence to accept her into their small camaraderie and give her what they needed sewn. Handing her fabric that had already been cut, although not pinned but it was no issue to Sansa.

Tormund took off for a while once she was settled, saying he had things to do, but would be back for her soon enough. Sansa kept to herself for a bit, the group had hushed a little upon her’s and Tormund’s arrival, only smiling when she felt someone stare - which they were always staring. But after she had successfully, and rather quickly sewn more than four men’s tunics in what seemed to be record time, they started to smile back. Sansa had felt a little smug at the feat. When a few more garments had been completed she was met with conversation - or more like a barrage of questions about being a Southern and what it was like being the sister of the great ‘King Crow’ (the spoke of Jon almost like they believed him to be a God). Thankfully she was saved after an hour or so Tormund returned to her, and much to the gossiping group’s disappointment, led her away from them.

“Where are you taking me now?” She asked.

“Time for you to meet the little ones.” He grinned.


End file.
